


Voulez-Vous Coucher Avec Moi?

by ColorfulQueer



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Alive Cole Anderson, Alternate Universe - Moulin Rouge! Fusion, Angst and Feels, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Connor Deserves Happiness, Gavin Reed Being an Asshole, Hank Anderson Deserves Happiness, M/M, Not Beta Read, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV Alternating, Tags May Change, Tragedy, moulin rouge - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-11
Updated: 2019-05-21
Packaged: 2020-02-29 22:16:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,872
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18787327
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ColorfulQueer/pseuds/ColorfulQueer
Summary: "The Moulin Rouge. A nightclub, a dance hall, and a bordello ruled over by Elijah Kamski. A kingdom of nighttime pleasures, where the rich play with the young and beautiful creatures of the underworld." Hank took a deep shuddering breath, blinking through the tears that blurred his vision as he continued to type his pained words. "The most beautiful of all of these… " He hesitated, fingers frozen over black keys. "Was the man I loved, Connor. A courtesan who sold his love to men. They called him 'The Sparkling Diamond.' And he was the star of the Moulin Rouge."Hank wiped a tear on his sleeve, preventing it from dropping on the stack of empty papers waiting to be filled with the story of his love. Of the cursed nightclub that he was seduced into and the heartbreak waiting for him. His typing slowed down as he filled up the remaining space of his paper."The man I loved… is dead."





	1. The Moulin Rouge

**Author's Note:**

> I followed the plot of Moulin Rouge and threw Hank and Connor into it because I like tearing my heart out. You know, just for fun.  
> I follow some of the main dialogue of the movie and integrate scenes that were just brushed by in the movie as well as my own.  
> Again, I’m not claiming this amazing plot to be mine. I’m simply trying to rewrite a couple of scenes and write the movie in my own words. Moulin Rouge is my absolute favorite movie and I recommend everyone watch it. I’ve always wanted to write a Moulin Rouge AU for other ships but for some reason, Hank and Connor just felt easier to write into this. Enjoy :)
> 
> I do not own the plot or characters written here

Bustling sounds of the city nightlife outside of Hank’s apartment drowned out the sound of his frantic typing as he raced to control the broken dam of his emotions by emptying them out onto paper. The sound of his sniffling as he struggled not to cry for the nth time that night was the only other sound that accompanied the clacking of his typewriter. He adjusted his feet under the table, uncrossing them and kicking over empty liquor bottles in the process.

The brisk air blowing into the window of his apartment threatened to dry the tears that clung to his cheeks, the windmill close by lazily creaking as it moved to allow more wind to enter the cramped and dirty apartment which painfully reminded Hank of the current state of his psyche. His desk was littered with old scripts either torn up or crumpled into balls, along with multiple wine bottles and dirty plates. His room was dimly illuminated by the moonlight that filtered through the large open window right against the side of his desk.

 _The Moulin Rouge. A nightclub, a dance hall, and a bordello ruled over by Elijah Kamski. A kingdom of nighttime pleasures, where the rich play with the young and beautiful creatures of the underworld._ Hank took a deep shuddering breath, blinking through the tears that blurred his vision as he continued to type his pained words. _The most beautiful of all of these…_ He hesitated, fingers frozen over black keys. _Was the man I loved, Connor. A courtesan who sold his love to men. They called him “The Sparkling Diamond.” And he was the star of the Moulin Rouge._

Hank wiped a tear on his sleeve, preventing it from dropping on the stack of empty papers waiting to be filled with the story of his love. Of the cursed nightclub that he was seduced into and the heartbreak waiting for him. His typing slowed down as he filled up the remaining space of his paper.

_The man I loved… is dead._

 

_~ * ~_

 

Hank first came to Paris a year ago, he knew nothing of the Moulin Rouge, of Elijah Kamski or Connor. It was the summer of love, or so he’d been told. The world was quite taken with the Bohemian Revolution and he came to be a part of it. He was led to a village called Montmartre, on a hill that stood right near Paris. It was known as the center of the Bohemian world, talented artists of every type lying within the entrancing village.

He was excited about his travels to the city, convinced by his son that moving there would be perfectly fitting for him. He was determined to integrate himself into the art world and get inspiration from the glowing life that buzzed from within the city. He had planned to let his creativity flow, increase his writing skills and write about truth, beauty, freedom and above all things: love.

Hank had used the remaining of his money to fund his move to the village, he was currently running on the little money his son Cole had left him. Hank had been penniless for as long as he could remember. It was a miracle he was able to raise his son to live long enough for him to move out of their small home and eventually find an occupation in another small town. Cole used to tease him about being a hopeless romantic and encouraged him to move to the city while he could before Cole would later return to him to support his aging father.

Cole had become a cartographer, landing himself an internship under a bold and educated young woman named Alice who was continuing her late father’s work. Hank had met her once, she was a dashing young woman just a couple of years older than Cole, approaching her mid-twenties. When his son introduced her, Hank could see the complete irrevocable adoration shared between the two. He wasn’t surprised when Cole pulled him aside to express his feelings for her, telling his father that traveling across that sea wasn’t nearly as nerve-wracking as spending months trapped on a ship with no way to escape his feelings for her. That confession amused Hank, his son reminding him of the common dilemmas his characters faced in the stories he wrote.

Before Hank moved to Montmartre, Cole would occasionally visit, bringing him poorly translated literature from his travels and whatever foreign knick-knack he could find. Cole would send him letters whenever possible and Hank was happy to learn that Cole had discovered that he and the cartographer he worked under had a mutual affection for one another. Cole had once written that he finally understood his father’s dramatic and cheesy writing and said for that reason he wanted Hank to follow the bohemian revolution so he could follow love and possibly find the love that he so commonly wrote about just like his son had found.

He found Cole at a young age, he was selling wilted flowers up and down dirty streets outside the orphanage he was in. Hank instantly fell for the small boy, being reminded of his own troubled upbringing. The night he first saw cole, he bought the entire basket of wilted flowers off of Cole with the little pocket money he had left. The small smile that lit up his eyes that he gave the man in return of his purchase made Hank determined to make that smile return to his face again. Hank knew it wasn’t very wise to adopt a child with his sad excuse of an income but he couldn’t help his want to give that boy a better life.

He would return every once in a while to build up a trusting relationship with the kid. When Cole confided in him about the abuse he suffered while at the orphanage, Hank immediately went inside and signed the papers that would make the kid his son. Unsurprisingly, the woman who ran the orphanage barely even remembered that Cole lived there so negotiating for the adoption price was easy. When Hank told Cole that he was adopted, that first bright smile that he saw was there once again on his face having grown tenfold.

Hank was able to accommodate the boy in his home comfortably and together they took care of a  large and mangy tabby cat that they found on the street who Cole lovingly named Sumo. Hank had no idea where that name came from but he loved it nonetheless. He was happy with Cole and was proud to raise him into the fine young man he became.

During the months before Cole left and during his first month out exploring, Cole had bothered Hank to stop being a grumpy and isolated old man and to get out to experience life. He insisted that Hank go to Montmartre. If it wasn’t for his son then Hank wouldn’t have known about the village. The younger generation appeared to be absolutely obsessed with it, attracted to the idea that it was taboo to even set foot in the village. Its reputation for debauchery preceded it and further convinced young people in the Bohemian Revolution to visit. Cole didn’t want Hank to be alone while he was gone and after weeks of his son insisting that the Revolution was meant for him to follow, the man relented and packed his things to move to the village, teetering on excitement and anxiety as he did so.

Hank was a writer and a hopeless romantic, he needed to go out and experience love instead of writing cliche heterosexual love stories that only lonely wives purchased from the local newspaper that Hank sold them to. He had never found his one “true love” he was too preoccupied with raising his son with the little earnings he made from his stories that sold poorly. He never found the time to find romantic love. How could he? He was always too busy with Cole and writing every night until his hands cramped up and his fingertips grew calloused. It was hard to go searching for someone when he hardly considered himself attractive with his body type and long gray hair. It was only enforced by his lack of romantic experiences, for it was close to impossible to find a male lover from the town he came from.

Perhaps in Montmartre, the crazed village on the outskirts of Paris would more opportunities be presented to him. He grew hopeful to find someone, anyone that shared his passion for literature or poetry or simply anything remotely artistic. Hopeful to find inspiration and create something to be proud of. His son had gotten into his head and he couldn’t help but keep the optimistic outlook on his future from growing. He was going to write about truth, beauty, freedom, and _love._

The first day he had in his new cheap apartment in the village was eventful, to say the least. When the small landlady was showing him the cramped dusty room, he felt a new wave of excitement rush over him. His brown tabby cat lept out of his arms upon entry into the room and strolled over to the windows that led out to a small balcony (if one could call it that, it was really just a wide ledge that was right outside the tall windows). Sumo had happily perched just outside the window and lay down to curl into himself for a nap under the sunshine.

Walking into the room to get a feel for the environment he almost felt young again, here he was in a new beginning, opportunity everywhere. He was inspired to write, to project these thrumming emotions quickly on whatever surface he could find. When he turned to look at the landlady and give her a thankful nod, he realized she had left, most likely not wishing to watch an old man and his mangy cat explore the apartment.

Sighing to himself and scanning over the small room once more, Hank made way to put the little belongings he had in possession away in the single dresser that sat alone in the far corner of the room. He only had a few outfits, some old vests, a couple of modest slacks along with starched button-ups and one thick coat that he had taken quite a liking to. He found a small desk sitting beside one large open window and decided it was the perfect place -admittedly the only place- to keep his typewriter.

Hank settled into the chair at the old desk and organized his belongings, making an effort to keep the stacks of paper he brought with him from fluttering away with the breeze coming in through the window beside him. It was a nice spring afternoon, he was in a crowded village so he regrettably could not hear the rustling leaves of trees or smell the freshness of growing vegetation that he had grown accustomed to in his old home. Instead, he heard horses trampling down on the muddy streets below and village folk yelling out, advertising their papers, produce or other small businesses. Though he found himself not to bothered by the change in scenery and surrounding sounds.

He was gently placing a sheet of paper into his typewriter when he was interrupted by a deafening crashing sound from behind him. He hastily threw himself out of his chair to find the source and search for Sumo. When he looked behind him he was met with the face of an attractive and young russet-brown man hanging upside down from a rope contraption that held him up through the gaping hole that was now in Hank’s ceiling. Before he could move to assess the unconscious man before him, his door burst open and in came another young man, blond and poorly dressed like a nun.

“How do you do?” he rambled, “My name is Simon Jericho. I’m so terribly sorry, we were upstairs rehearsing a play.” Simon then continued to rant about how the play was inspired by the bohemian revolution, something modern called Spectacular, Spectacular which was to be set in Switzerland. The main character was acted by the unconscious man currently hanging from the ceiling, gently swaying and by no means a cause for worry for Simon.

A voice from above asked “How is he?” followed by three heads poking out from the large space. A russet toned man which looked to be of importance was surrounded by two pale men who all together peered down at the mess below.

“Perfect,” The man started, “Markus is unconscious and now we won’t have time to rehearse the play to present to the financer tomorrow.”

One of the men with red hair beside him chimed in.

“I still have to finish composing the music.”

Simon chuckled, “We can find someone else to read the part.”

The man who seemed to have a demanding aura to him scoffed, “Where on Earth will we find a man to play a sensitive swiss poet goatherder?” He looked down to Hank, his eyes lit up as they moved up and down the older man’s body as if assessing him for value.

“You, what’s your name?”

“H-Hank,” He stuttered, visibly overwhelmed by the situation that presented itself.

“How do you feel about helping us finish the play?” Hank couldn’t deny that his curiosity was piqued even though a part of him didn’t want to help the group of men who had just ruined his ceiling. Though he found that he could not deny them and hesitantly said: “How can I help?”

The three men above disappeared for a moment and returned with a ladder to connect the two rooms. Simon and the man who had eventually introduced himself as the playwright, Josh, had carefully separated unconscious Markus from the rope contraption to carry him upstairs and place him on the lone bed in the large room. Hank looked for Sumo, worrying that he had been hurt by the falling debris but found him completely unbothered and still asleep at the window. He made his way upstairs and was met with a large space composed of great wooden structures with old fabrics thrown over them and a grand backdrop of a snowed mountain landscape. In front of it sat a painted mountain cutout and a tall ladder that led up to it, where Hank was to stand during the rehearsal.

The group of men began rehearsing and Hank found himself quickly regretting his decision to help, the red-haired man, Jerry was on top of one of the wooden structures, working on a contraption of lights, attempting an avant-garde way of introducing lighting into the play. Hank could not tell if the lights were repeatedly blown out or intentionally shattered for dramatic effect. The flashing alone was enough to give Hank a migraine that distracted him from the script he was given to read from. Below him, the other blond named Ralph sat at a large mess of an organ that did not sound like the instrument whatsoever. His playing was almost drowning out the sounds of Jerry’s exploding light fixture. Hank felt as if he might pass out from all the sensory input.

Below, Simon was still dressed as a nun and sang. “ _The hills animate… with the sound of euphonious symphonies of descant…_ ” His voice was competing with the other sounds and only helped in making the room fall into disarray.

“Oh, stop! Stop that insufferable droning!” Josh wailed from across the room, “It's drowning out my words!” he paced over to Ralph and asked him to _please_ stick to decorative piano.

All of the artists working on the play appeared to have artistic differences in the way it should be portrayed. As Josh began lamenting over how the other three men were hurting the integrity of his play, the rest of the men joined in to retaliate and argue over Josh’s lyrics. Hank stood above on the ladder not knowing how to deescalate the situation, awkwardly watching their interaction. He wasn’t a man who socialized often so dealing with this frivolous group of men was out of his knowledge.

“I don’t think a nun would say that about a hill.”

“What if he says the hills are vital intoning the descant?”

From across the room Markus shot out of bed to proclaim, momentarily interrupting the argument, “The hills are incarnate with the symphonic melodies” and proceeded to pass out.

The men unanimously muttered their disagreement and fell back into their loud dispute.

“The hills…” Hank struggled to pitch in his own suggestion from above, “ _The hills_ …” he continued trying and failing to get the attention of the arguing men below him. Finally, he gathered courage and roughly sang out, attempting to match the tune he was able to pick up from the chaotic organ composition.

“ _The hills are alive… with the sound of music.”_ Hank did not consider himself a good singer he could even tell he was out of tune, but he was able to carry his deep rumbling voice over the bickering men’s voices and get their attention in order to continue. “ _With songs, they have sung for a thousand years…”_

 _“_ The hills are alive with the sound of music, I love it!” Markus had awoken again and rushed his way to the front of the room in excitement. The other men continued to sing Hank’s choice of lyrics and proclaimed with equal excitement over how well it fit with the composition.

Simon turned to Josh and excitedly suggested that Hank and Josh should write the play together.

“I beg your pardon?” Josh gasped, utterly appalled at the idea that he share his work with the older man. It was not a suggestion that Josh was pleased to hear and the other men gasped in agreement which further spurred on the man’s anger at the idea, clearly tugging on some insecurities Josh had over his writing.

“You expect me to get someone else’s input in this play? As if you men don’t give me enough trouble as it is!” Josh was visibly flustered and made his way to the door in a rush of fury after hearing once more the other men’s enthusiasm of having another writer. He stomped past them, slamming the door behind him after he angrily yelled his goodbye.

“Well, welcome to your new job as a writer.” Simon turned to Hank, placing a hand on his shoulder.

From behind Hank, Ralph worriedly said, “Simon, Kamski would never agree!” He moved in front of Hank to look at him properly. “No offense, but have you ever written a play before?”

“No,” Hank started, “But I have made a living for myself by writing romantic fiction and poetry.”

“Ah!” Markus proclaimed, “This man has talent! He’s perfect for the play.”

Simon moved to gather the three men around Hank, “With him, we can write the Bohemian revolutionary show we always dreamt of.”

“How will we convince Kamski?” Jerry asked.

“I somewhat have a plan,” Simon began, “Connor.” The men gasped as he mentioned the name.

“We arrange a meeting between Hank and Connor and Hank will show off his previous work and find a way to make Connor adore his writing which will get him on our side of the play and insist to Kamski that Hank write Spectacular, Spectacular.” His eyes lit up as he met the eyes of everyone in the room. “Kamski will have no choice but to accept the play for the Moulin Rouge.”

Simon’s plan was so hastily thought up that Hank felt he could not put his trust into it. He had no idea who this Connor was, and if he did, his lack of confidence in his writing paired with his poor social skills would make for some disastrous outcome. Hank could feel panic welling up inside his chest as he realized that the four men before him were beginning to place their trust in Hank who they had met a couple of hours ago, their dreams to create a revolutionary play lied on Hank’s shoulders.

“I don’t know if I am a true Bohemian Revolutionary.” Hank choked out.

Simon looked up him, eyes full of hope, “Do you believe in beauty?”

“Yes.”

“Freedom?”

“Of course.”

“Truth?”

“Yes.”

“Love?” Simon finished.

Hank took a deep breath, “Love, Love? Above all things, I believe in love. Love is like oxygen, love lifts us up where we belong. All you need is love!” He met Simon’s gaze with embarrassment, unable to imagine how ridiculous it must have been to watch an old man rant about his love over the idea of love.

“That’s perfect! You’re the voice of the Revolution!”

That night Simon opened a new bottle of absinthe and eagerly presented it to Hank after having found out that the older man had hardly touched any form of alcohol. The men gathered in the large room they rehearsed in and celebrated their new plan to get their play into production. Absinthe was unlike anything Hank had ever tasted, it warmed his chest from the inside out and he could feel travel up to his head which made him a bit too dizzy to stand up. After his third glass, the room around him began to lose its shape and he began to see the green fairy that was displayed on the bottle of Absinthe fly around the room. The hallucinations aided in his fall into uncontrollable laughter with the rest of the men and for the first time in a while, Hank was able to loosen up the tension he always held in his shoulders and enjoy his night without a care in the world.

The next morning, Hank awoke with a horrid migraine and the purring of Sumo beside his head did nothing to help the pounding behind his eyes. He begrudgingly got up to dress himself to go out into the village. Tonight he would be going to the Moulin Rouge to execute the plan that Simon had made. He didn’t have any nice suits that would allow him entry into the club so Simon and Markus were able to scrounge up some money for Hank to find himself an appropriate suit for the night’s events. The suit he found was nice enough, passable as well made to the untrained eye. He bought a long tailcoat that matched the black of his vest and slacks along with a top hat he picked for himself. He also chose a stark white ascot that was a bit brighter than his shirt to tuck into his vest that he thought tied the suit together, making for the image of a cleaned up man.

Although he found himself nice attire to wear, Hank could not deny the discomfort he felt in wearing the suit. It felt so very foreign when he tried it on at the tailor, the tailor himself worriedly asking if anything was wrong as Hank struggled to adjust himself in the mirror. He was not used to such a suit, he never had the time for social events or any other event one might wear such a suit to.

He didn’t feel prepared enough for his meeting with the famous Connor that Simon and Markus spoke so highly about. He didn’t know what to expect, Simon’s plan felt too simple to follow. Hank was supposed to simply recite his poetry or other writing to prove his worth to Connor, whoever the man was? He was losing confidence as the hours passed by and the sun slowly moved across the sky to set. Soon after the sun went down, Simon and his entourage came to Hank’s door dressed to the nines and exclaimed how well dressed Hank was. Hank answered the door in his full attire and had pulled his hair back under the top hat, he even took the time to clean up his beard and shorten the length.

Together they made their way into the Moulin Rouge and Hank’s heart thrummed with the beat of the music blaring from every side of the club. The hall was filled to the brim with men and women dressed elegantly. They were guided by the crowd of dancing aristocrats out of the entrance hall and into the main ballroom that was as elegant as it was frivolous.

They were greeted with a parade of cancan dancers flowing across the dance floor, bright skirts and pantyhose flashing so much that for a quick moment Hank was scandalized. The fast-moving skirts tickled his face as the cancan dancers twirled around and closed in on Hank’s group and he didn’t really know where to look when the women were exposing themselves so much. As they submerged themselves into the dancefloor Hank was able to see aristocrats, men and women alike, dancing with the cancan women and other entertainers dressed so provocatively that Hank felt his face heat up the more he looked.

The main dance hall was huge, there were balconies running along the walls and a grand balcony at the front of the room that held a small orchestra. It was led by a man who Hank assumed was the notorious Elijah Kamski who owned the Moulin Rouge. He stood above everyone and was announcing the various dances that fit the song the orchestra behind him played. The crowd seemed to move in an understanding of the dances being named and danced as if they knew the steps by heart.

Hank was dragged further into the dancefloor after showing his reluctance to join by Simon and Markus. Jerry and Ralph were further submerged in the crowd dancing away perfectly matching the other dancers, blending in as regulars. Perhaps they were. The crowd of aristocrats was dressed far wilder than what Hank had imagined. He saw men in tailcoats and matching skirts, women in tight suits or bright dresses and some others wearing colors to match the cancan dancers.

Hank didn’t understand the dance steps but he decided to enjoy himself nonetheless. He was getting lost in the fast steps of the dancing, almost tripping over himself as he tried to catch up and he couldn’t help but laugh at himself, the deep rumble of his laughter traveling around him and the woman he danced with. He switched dance partners frequently as the dance suggested and danced with men and women equally dressed provocatively. At one point Simon moved to dance with him and he tried his best to teach Hank the steps to match the fast-paced music the orchestra changed to. Hank could feel the music thrumming in his bones and swore his heartbeat changed to match the beat of the music. He felt so alive, he had never felt so full of energy, he could only compare the joy he was feeling to when he used to play hide and seek with cole as a child. If his son could only see him now, he surely wouldn’t recognize his father.

From above, Kamski announced that it was time for the cancan, in complete unison the cancan dancers fled the dancefloor and the rest of the crowd moved aside to make room for them. That was when Simon decided to move their group to a booth carved into the wall in the back of the room. They sat down, Hank struggling to catch his breath, -woefully reminding him of how out of shape he was- and watched in awe as the dancers flowed around the floor making art with the moving colors of their skirts. A man dressed in a suit coat with nothing underneath and shorts that left nothing for the imagination offered the group of men flutes of champagne which they gratefully took. Hank had to stop himself from downing it in one gulp, mostly to look like the gentleman he was posing to be and because he was absolutely parched from dancing.

“So what did you think?” Markus leaned in from across the table, his attention focused on Hank.

“I think that was the most fun I’ve had in all my life,” Hank replied.

“I don’t know whether to be sad or happy for you,” Simon said from beside him.

“Happy, this was amazing. Truly.”

“That’s great then! Cheers to the Moulin Rouge and to Spectacular Spectacular!” Simon raised his glass motioning for everyone to cheers, the clinking of the flutes not heard with the blaring sound of the orchestra from across the dance hall. Hank took a moment to properly take in the scene unfolding in the Moulin Rouge. The dance hall was a mix of black suits drowned out by the bright warm colors of the cancan dancers. The crowd moved with expertise, matching the rhythm of the music, the choreography so intricate that Hank couldn’t begin to imagine how people learned it all.

Kamski had begun to quiet down the crowd, the music coming to a halt and the lights in the hall dimming, “It’s time…” He announced, “For who you have all been waiting for!” The crowd below had begun exchanging excited whispers, heads moving in search of whoever was to come out.

“The Sparkling Diamond,” Simon whispered from beside him, “He’s here.”

A bright light began circling the room, outshining the dimmed lights at the booths and around the dance floor. The light stopped and pointed at the ceiling. Illuminated by the light, a man sat on a swing elevated above the audience. The crowd cheered in excitement chanting variations from “Connor! Sparkling diamond! Look here!”

“That’s Connor?” Hank turned, reluctantly taking his eyes off the spectacle of a man hanging above everyone.

“Yes, I’ve arranged a meeting for you two to meet later tonight after his performance, here.” Simon reached into his coat pocket to retrieve and give him opera glasses which Hank quickly took in his hand.

Hank looked up, finally able to see the man who was moving around the crowd, circling just above their heads, back arched and head thrown back. He wore a small top hat and a translucent button up, the top buttons opened to expose his collar bones beneath the black corset he wore. Hank let his gaze linger, struggling to follow the Sparkling Diamond’s movements. His legs were dressed in fishnet stockings below shorts that were tighter than the pantyhose the cancan dancers wore paired with black heels that shined in the spotlight. Connor was glowing, no wonder he was called the Sparkling Diamond, his face and exposed chest were sparkling and almost reflected the light that was focused on him.

Hank could hear Simon saying something else to him but he had completely blocked everything out, too focused on Connor’s lithe movements to care about his surroundings. The music picked up as the sparkling man was lowered into the enthusiastic crowd. He was singing and Hank’s dazed mind managed to pick up the words “Diamonds are a girl's best friend.” Another reason he must have been named the Sparkling Diamond, the crowd of aristocrats must have loved to shower the man in diamonds.It seemed to Hank that Connor accepted nothing less as he danced throughout the crowd kicking bouquets of flowers out of the waiting hands of men and collecting jewelry that was presented to him in his small top hat. Hank understood the men in the crowd because suddenly Hank felt the need to give all he could to the Sparkling Diamond, he understood the want to appease the beauty that taunted everyone on the dance floor.

Connor was being lifted off the floor by the crowd and he gracefully moved over everyone. His singing raised over the instruments that seemed to play only for his words. Hank didn’t know if he could handle the meeting with Connor. He was supposed to be alone in a room with _him?_ He couldn’t deny his immediate attraction to the man and didn’t know if his nerves would ever calm down in the presence of such a beautiful person. He felt too inferior. He was going to need a lot more liquid courage to continue the night.

Hank could feel himself slowly fall into his worries, everyone depended on him to get Connor to fall for his writing which in turn would secure Hank’s position as the new playwright. What if he ruined the opportunity? Would he ever have another chance? He doubted it. Hank was so caught up in his thoughts that he didn’t take notice of the crowd of dancers migrating towards the booth.

His ears picked up the sound of singing and felt the shaking of an entire crowd’s dancing feet moving the floor beneath him. He managed to look up and found Connor surfing the crowd, being led in his direction. Hank felt the pit of his stomach drop and he frantically adjusted his coat and ascot as he realized the Sparkling Diamond was going to be right in front of him, much sooner than he expected.

Time seemed to slow down as Connor was brought down from the crowd and he proceeded to _twirl_ his way towards Hank, eyes focused on his as he moved. When Connor was less than a foot away, Hank allowed himself to take in the sight that was the Sparkling Diamond, he was more ethereal up close, almost too perfect to be in the presence of. He moved his gaze up Connor’s body and found that Connor was doing the same, which in turn caused Hank’s cheeks to flood with warmth (along with other, lower parts of his body). At this distance, Hank could properly see Connor’s face, pale ivory and strong boned, dotted with moles. His top hat had disappeared and left chestnut curls in disarray. Chocolate brown eyes were lined with khol, his plump lips and cheekbones tinted red. _Beautiful_ was all he could think.

“I believe you were expecting me.” Connor finally said, in what appeared to be the most breathy and salacious voice Hank had ever had the pleasure to hear. He struggled to reply in words, his voice suddenly disappearing but was able to nod _yes_ at Connor. The sparkling man held out his pale hand and Hank held his eye contact as he took it and allowed himself to be pulled on to the waiting dance floor.


	2. How Wonderful Life is Now You’re in the World

Connor couldn’t decide if he was excited or nervous as he prepared for his performance for the night. He was currently being laced into his god awful corset by his dear friend Kara. She always sympathized with Connor and repeatedly asked if he was _sure_ he wanted to wear a corset? Maybe change into something not as constricting? But Connor always refused, determined to get praise from Elijah for his scandalous outfits. They always garnered the most attention and of course, the most profit. He could see his knuckles turning white with how tightly he clutched the edges of his vanity, he inhaled deeply and struggled to hold in his breath for the corset to fit better as Kara’s hands moved lower down the corset.

“I guarantee you look quite ravishing and I’m sure the Duke will not be blind to it.” Kara winked at his reflection.

“Thank you, but I still have to change into my other outfit for the meeting after the show.”

“I know, this will give him a little taste of what’s to come.” Her last words were punctuated by her grunts as she pulled back the last bit of the laces and tied them together. “And done.”

Elijah said he arranged a meeting with the main investor for their play tonight and instructed Connor to use his best skills to convince the investor to well, invest. Which insinuated that Connor should try his absolute best to look exactly like what Kara had called him, _ravishing_. This would be like any normal meeting with a person who paid for his time, the problem was that the man who was interested was a Duke. A well known Sir. Gavin Reed. And the future of Connor’s livelihood depended entirely on whether the meeting went well. Nervous, he decided. He was most definitely feeling nervous.

Connor knew the Duke’s type; posh, arrogant, entitled and worst of all just horribly perverted. The entitlement that the aristocrats Connor had dealt with led to one too many gross encounters of having to “kindly refuse” the men’s (and sometimes women’s) propositions for sex. Implying that going to bed with them would work out in his benefit. Of course, he never did, much to the chagrin of Elijah who always told Connor to take whatever opportunity he could get to be in favor of the wealthy.

Most every dancer in the Moulin Rouge automatically assumed that Connor always seduced every aristocrat he met with mostly because of the jewels he wore, but it was all either counterfeit or profit from his shows. As a matter of fact, Connor rarely had sex with any of the people he met with, only the ones who didn’t make him horribly uncomfortable. He didn’t mind the reputation he had, it was just part of his job. It was all part of the role he had to play to achieve the dream he held for as long as he could remember, to be an actor. Now with the Bohemian Revolution overtaking Paris, Connor had his chance to finally fulfill his dream. Elijah had promised him that if everything went well with Duke then Connor’s dreams to act and be a part of something big would be reached. It was all dependent on tonight.

Connor smiled at Kara in thanks and she made her way out of the dressing room. He turned to his vanity to apply the little makeup he knew to apply. He had a big supply of powders that made his skin shine in the light and he felt that it would be perfect for tonight's performance. He took care in applying it to his exposed chest and cheekbones and moved on to his khol liner to carefully line the waterline of his eyes. He liked the way the khol made his eyes look, seductive and sultry by default. He lastly used the rouge he stored in a small container and gathered it on his forefinger to lightly dab it onto his lips and the apple of his cheeks. _What scent would a rich man be attracted to?_ Connor thought to himself. _Roses_ , he then decided and sprayed rosewater on where he saw other dancers spray their own perfumes, on his neck, behind his ears, and on his wrists.

Deciding he was ready, Connor made his way to the catwalk above the dance hall so he could situate himself on the swing prepared for him by the technicians of the club. He really liked working in the Moulin Rouge, although there was no other place he had the privilege to go to, he was fond of the nightclub and the people within it and always looked forward to the nights where he would put on a big show where he could showcase his best acting skills. Tonight was one such night. Connor was slowly lowered into the dance hall and he sat suspended high above the crowd below him, hidden away from view. He waited for his cue and tried to look as graceful as he could when he was finally lowered into the spotlight. The night was particularly exciting and he happily danced with whoever approached him, making sure to give his temporary dance partners the best time of their life. Connor was quite proud to note that he managed not to panic internally as he usually did when the crowd picked him up over their heads, he was instead able to put on his best smile and let himself enjoy the feeling of floating on top of the crowd.

Elijah had told him that the Duke would be waiting for him in a booth in the back of the room and when the two met up to dance in the middle of the floor, Elijah had pointed and directed the crowd towards an older man and his entourage which had Connor moving along with the crowd and quickly assuming that the man staring blankly into the distance was the Duke.

He used the Duke’s face as a focal point as he spun his way towards the man to keep his balance. When Connor was finally close enough to see the Duke he was taken aback by how dapper the man was. He could see the man’s gaze longingly move up and down his body and Connor shamelessly returned the favor. When they made eye contact Connor was surprised to see that his striking blue eyes held a kindness to them, almost innocent looking. His gaze was completely unlike every other patron in the room, their eyes full of hunger and lust. He was undeniably handsome and Connor decided he did not mind one bit feeling the gaze of the older gentleman on him. When he took his large calloused hand in his own, Connor knew he was going to have fun at the meeting arranged with him.

Connor led the man on to the middle of the dancefloor and gladly placed his hands on his broad chest as they waited for the music to pick up. God, the Duke looked so worried and confused and Connor loved it. He already loved the idea that the man in front of him didn’t look obnoxiously confident or overbearing, he had a simple presence that didn’t demand attention and for that very reason, Connor decided he was going to give the man as much attention as he possibly could.

“I look forward to our meeting later tonight,” Connor said, one hand moving up to caress the back of his neck then moving under his top hat to pick it up and place it on his own head.

“I- yes. Me too,” The man stuttered trying to look everywhere but Connor’s face. Connor was definitely going to have fun with him.

“How wonderful of you to take an interest in our show.” Connor smiled at the Duke as he began to guide them into the dance.

“Yes, it sounds very exciting, I’d be delighted to be involved… assuming you like what I do.” The man replied, raising his voice over the sound of the orchestra.

“Oh, I’m sure I will.” Maybe the Duke wasn’t as innocent as he looked?

“Simon said that we might be able to,” He paused as Connor guided the man to dip him in the dance, “do it in private.”

“Did he?” Connor supposed he wrongly assumed the man was innocent if he was already getting into the details of what their night entailed. He shouldn’t be surprised, the man was older than Connor after all. Who knew what he had experienced in his lifetime?

“Yes,” The Duke continued, “A private... poetry reading.” Connor decided to play along, to entertain the man as he originally intended regardless of whether the man’s intentions were innocent or not.

“Oh, a ‘poetry reading.’” Connor replied, he moved a hand off of the Duke’s shoulder and trailed it into the man’s long smoky gray hair, releasing the tie that it was in. “Oh, I love a little ‘poetry’ after supper.” Connor allowed himself to let out a breathy laugh, playing into the innuendo that the Duke seemed excited to use.

They continued the dance and Connor tried hard not to laugh at the way the older man stumbled over his feet, as if they were too heavy to move properly. The Duke was a large man and Connor let himself enjoy the feeling of his strong arms wrapped around him as they moved along the dancefloor. He decided to indulge himself quite a lot by guiding the man to dip Connor so he could look up at his face, framed by his long loose hair and trimmed beard. He particularly liked the feeling of being held up by him, feeling the warmth of his hands on his waist and from that angle, seeing the buttons on his vest clinging on for dear life as they stretched over his broad chest.

Connor might just take the Duke to bed, he originally intended not to, mainly because of his dislike of the upper class. But this handsome man before him, he wanted to give the man his full attention and stare into those kind blue (probably not innocent?) eyes all night. He was surprised by the idea that he _couldn’t_ wait and didn’t want to separate from the man when the song ended. The Duke looked like he understood. His hands lingered on Connor’s waist and Connor placed the man’s top hat back where it belonged then gently moved the man’s hands off. He held them for a split second, indulging in the sight of how his own hands were completely engulfed by the Duke’s large ones. Hearing the song change to a slower tune, Connor finally made them separate and bowed dramatically as he moved away from the man.

“That’s my cue.” Connor winked, enjoying the blush that flashed upon the gentleman’s face before quickly disappearing into the crowd to finish his performance.

Connor moved to the center of the floor and waited for the swing to lower down once more, taking in the cheers of the crowd as he circled the floor and tried to make eye contact with the people who surrounded him. He grabbed the swing after it moved into his view and centered himself on it. The music got louder as he rose to accompany his singing and Elijah sang along from the large balcony beside him. He felt himself struggle to hold a high note, his throat feeling like it was closing up. Soon enough Connor realized he couldn’t continue his line. He gasped to try to take in as much air as he could and as he tried to get a breath he heard the music of the orchestra and crowd below him become muted, as if was being lowered into water, not being raised into the air. He turned to look down at Elijah, who was looking up at Connor as he always was. Connor gave him a worried look and felt the strength in his hands and arms weaken as he heard Elijah’s voice echo behind him then Connor felt his body go completely limp and slide out of the swing, he felt faint and his surroundings looked like they were spinning so he decidedly  closed his eyes before everything went completely black.

_~ * ~_

Connor awoke to a foul smell permeating his nose. He tried to get up but his body wouldn’t move, instead, he could only peel open his eyes to be greeted by sweet Kara sitting at his side, holding a small vial of herbs in front of his nose that she frequently used to wake him up. Kara’s short brunette hair looked to be stuck to her head in sweat, most likely from the stress of having to deal with Connor. Her blue eyes scanned his face, in search of something that could be wrong with him, she gave him a subtle reassuring smile and gently patted his hand. Connor lifted his head to look at where he was and discovered that he lay on the small couch in his dressing room. He could still hear the sounds of the Moulin Rouge, having continued after Connor’s show.

“Kara... “ He breathed in, trying and failing to get his lungs full of air. “You know how these damned corsets are. It must have knocked the air out of me after my routine and I- and now I’m here.” Connor weakly smiled at Kara trying to rationalize the situation, that had to be it. He must have been tired, that’s all. Kara smiled back, not saying anything and instead wiping the sweat off of his forehead with a damp cloth.

“The Doctor is here.”

“What? Kara, I’m fine.” He tried to sit up before a wave of dizziness immobilized him again, he sighed. “There’s no reason to call Amanda.”

“So you’re fine?” Amanda questioned from the doorway. She seemed to be scrutinizing him, making Connor feel as if she was tired of being called to his aid for the third time that month. Connor definitely knew he was already tired of his dizzy spells.

“Yes, I’m fine I was only out for…” He motioned for Kara to lean closer to quietly ask her how long he’d been asleep for. “Only a couple of minutes.” Connor finished, beaming at Amanda and more to himself, he was worried he had passed out for too long and missed his meeting with the Duke. He still had time.

“Then I have no reason to be here.” Amanda walked up to Connor, placing a russet hand against his forehead, a stark contrast against his skin. “You need to stop with those tight corsets, it’s a wonder how any of the other girls are able to wear them without a problem.”

Connor laughed and it soon turned into a small coughing fit, he reached for the damp cloth Kara held to his forehead to cough into it and catch whatever he felt clinging to the back of his throat. When he recovered, he glanced down at the cloth and saw spots of blood on it, was that there before? Maybe Kara wiped off the blood from his forehead? Did he hit his head from the fall? No, someone caught him that was for sure. Either way, he hastily hid it from Amanda’s view, wanting nothing more than to get out of the dressing room as fast as he could and not raise alarm. Maybe it was the corset but like hell, if he would ever stop wearing them, they made him look good and garnered profitable attention.  

“Let’s get you ready dear,” Kara said after Amanda left the room. “Come on let’s prepare you for that twinkle-toed Duke.” Connor laughed at her choice of words and stood up to make his way to his vanity. He saw a long black chiffon robe hanging on a coat rack beside his vanity and picked it up, feeling the soft fabric flow through his fingers, it was detailed with flowery lace and Connor thought it was perfect for the night.

“What do you think of this?” He turned to Kara, putting it on and twirling to see how it moved.

“Perfect, we can style your outfit to fit that robe.” Kara winked at him and turned around to search in a trunk behind her. They decided to dress him in full lingerie, opting to replace his fishnets with softer stockings that were tinted black to match his chiffon robe. He changed into a more elongated corset (this time not as tight as the one he changed out of) and shorts that breathed better than the ones he wore for the show. Connor kept on his black heels and decided he looked presentable. He was assessing his appearance in the mirror when Elijah burst into the room, sweat beading on his forehead and black hair in complete disarray from his long performance.

“Darling! What happened? Are you alright?” He rushed to Connor and placed his clammy hands on Connor’s shoulder, his eyes frantically searching his face in worry.

“I’m quite alright Elijah, well... how do I look?” Connor moved back and presented himself to Elijah, lifting up his arms to show the long flow of his robe and giving him a slow turn to show off his lingerie.

“You look absolutely delectable, how could the Duke resist eating you up!” Elijah clapped his hands together and moved to pinch Connor’s cheeks. “Everything is going so well!” Connor giggled and felt himself smile widely, happy to have gotten such a positive reaction from him.

Connor had the luxury of living alone, unlike the rest of the dancers in the Moulin Rouge who all lived in small apartments together. The only downside was that his room was still within the walls of the Moulin Rouge. He lived in what could be seen as an art installment, a large ornate architectural elephant, it’s head a balcony overlooking the courtyard of the club and body holding the room where Connor slept. It was also where he met with whoever bought his time, a safe place for him where he could alert anyone in case things went wrong. He made his way up to his room, crossing the courtyard and pulling his robe tighter around him to protect him from the chill breeze of the night. He walked up the stairs that led to the elephant and opened his room.

Upon entry to his room, Connor was greeted by the sight of a nervous looking Duke, he didn’t hear Connor enter and was pacing the room, repeatedly combing his large hands through his hair.

“This is a perfect place for a poetry reading isn’t it?” Connor couldn’t hide his smirk as he saw how his words made the man jump in place and turn around. The Duke looked just short of embarrassed and Connor decided to continue his teasing to get more reactions from him. “Poetic enough for you?” He breathed, stepping closer to him and smoothing his hands over the lapels of the Duke’s coat.

Connor saw the man’s eyes go wide as they moved up and down his body. He turned properly to face him and his face flushed as they made eye contact. The Duke was frozen in place, not knowing what to do with himself, they stood for a moment face to face, as Connor allowed the Duke to gather himself, his hands roaming the man’s chest indulgently.

“I- yes, I suppose this is.” He looked around, allowing himself to properly take in their surroundings. “But, what is this place?” He asked, pointedly looking at all the velvet curtains that covered every wall, matching the red carpeting of the floor. Connor could imagine how confusing this room must have been for him, just as frivolous as the dancehall of the Moulin Rouge. There were suggestive oil paintings adorning the walls of the room, some displayed between the drapes of the velvet curtains and others laying on the floor propped up against the wall. Connor followed the man’s focus and looked behind him to see the bed behind them. It sat to the side of the room just under one of those suggestive paintings, layered in thick pillows and black and red blankets, illuminated by multiple surrounding candles. Of course that would draw his attention.

Connor giggled and separated himself from the duke. “This is my bedroom, a private place for our… poetry reading.” He moved away and towards a table set up with wine glasses and platters of food set up on either table.

“A little supper? Maybe some champagne to calm your nerves?” He lifted the bottle of champagne and turned to present it to the Duke.

“I'd rather just… get it over and done with.” The Duke looked more flustered as he removed his top hat and fiddled with it between his grand hands.

Connor tried his best to not look affronted by his unexpected blunt words and managed a smile. “Very well.” He placed the bottle of champagne in the small bucket of ice it originally sat in then walked around the Duke, trailing his hands across the man’s shoulders as he passed and sat on the bed.

“Why don’t you come down here?” He leaned back and crossed his legs then patted the space beside him, inviting the man to sit.

“I’d actually prefer to do it standing…” The Duke trailed on, looking around the room.

“Oh,” Connor said, this time forgetting to act unaffected by his words, shifting to stand.

“Oh! You don’t have to stand, sometimes it’s quite long… and I’d like for you to be comfortable.” He turned to look at Connor, crystal blue eyes meeting brown. Connor _really_ misjudged the Duke, although he was desperately attracted to the man, he couldn’t deny that the sudden change in the conversation didn’t offend him. He tried to not be disappointed, because why wouldn’t the Duke expect sex immediately upon entry into the room? Perhaps he was just like every other client that Connor has had to deal with. He supposed he should just make the best of this experience and enjoy what he could.

“What I do is quite modern,” The man continued, “It may feel strange at first, but if you're open… you might enjoy it.” _Wow, he certainly doesn’t beat around the bush, does he?_

“I'm sure I will,” Connor said, trying his best to not be turned off by the blunt conversation

“Excuse me.” The Duke moved further into the room, pacing in front of Connor in short steps, murmuring under his breath. “Come on. Come on.” The man turned his back on Connor and continued… The sky… The bluebirds…”

“...Is everything okay?” Connor asked, bringing the Duke’s attention back to him.

“Uh… Yes. I’m just having a bit of trouble getting…” He glanced down and huffed, “inspiration.”

“Oh…” The poor man was too nervous to do anything it seemed, Connor smiled to himself and decided that he just had to help the Duke find his ‘inspiration.’ He got up from the bed and sauntered towards the Duke, placing a small hand on the large man’s shoulder to turn him around for his full attention and to keep him in place.

“Let me help you find some ‘inspiration,’” Connor whispered then shifted so their bodies pressed against each other as he trailed a hand down the man’s belly to cup his hand over the significant bulge protruding between the man’s legs. Connor felt his stomach drop in a spike of arousal at his pleasant discovery. He heard the Duke groan in his ear and Connor returned it with a low growl, “Inspiring enough for you?”

“ _Let’s make love,”_ Connor whispered, pressing his lips against the man’s ear. “You want to don’t you? Give me your poetry.” He turned them around and pushed the Duke to fall on the bed that now lay behind him. The Duke’s hair had loosened from the fall and was a mess that surrounded his head from where he lay. Conor wanted nothing more than to run his fingers through it and decided then that he’d gladly do exactly what the Duke came here for and enjoy it as much as he could. Connor kneeled on the bed and moved to sit atop the man’s welcoming thighs and splayed his hands across his broad chest, appreciating the way he wanted to not so long ago on the dance floor.

“M-make love?” The flustered Duke struggled to sit up with Connor still in his lap and grabbed Connor’s hands to stop their movements.

“Whatever you want to call it,” Connor couldn’t deny that he had grown tired of the Duke’s obsession with poetry as his choice of euphemism. “I _need_ your poetry.” He breathed and punctuated his sentence by rolling his hips down into the Duke’s lap.

“Alright!” The Duke’s voice cracked as he moved out from under Connor and sat beside the smaller man, holding both hands in his own.

“‘It's a little bit funny...this feeling inside. I'm not one of those who can easily hide.’" The Duke began, glancing down at their hands nervously before looking up and asking, “Is this okay? Is this what you want?”

“Oh… yes, poetry. Naughty words!” Connor quickly separated their hands to indulge himself in running his hands over the Duke’s body and play into what he thought the man wanted. He could hear him talking and feel the rumble of his words traveling through his chest but didn’t care to listen while he focused on exploring the man’s body as much as he was allowed. After he removed the Duke’s ascot and looked into his eyes as he unbuttoned the top buttons of his shirt, Connor let himself listen to the man’s soothing words and found himself taken aback and had to stop his ministrations to listen.

“‘I hope you don’t mind,’” The Duke paused, taking Connor’s hands in his own from where they sat on his chest, “‘I hope you don't mind… that I put down in words... How wonderful life is now you’re in the world.’”

“That’s beautiful,” Connor whispered, unable to say anything else as he took in the man’s words. He felt his heart skip a beat as he held eye contact with the man, his eyes caring and still holding the same kind look he had when they first laid eyes on each other. Connor couldn’t describe what he was feeling but felt comforted by his hands being enveloped in the Duke’s large warm ones. Warmth flooded his chest as the Duke smiled softly at him.

“It’s from a poem I once wrote long ago and now sitting across from you… It felt like I wrote it for you... like my words found a meaning.”

“I- I can’t believe it…” Connor began, leaning closer to the Duke and managing to get one hand free to place it against the side of the man’s face, thumb softly stroking his cheek. “... I’ve fallen for a handsome and talented Duke.”

He had shifted close enough to feel the Duke’s breath on his skin as he chuckled under his breath. “A Duke?”

“Not, that the title matters of course.” Connor leaned closer, lips nearly touching as the Duke spoke once more.

“I’m not a Duke.” The man smiled, chasing after Connor’s lips as he pulled away.

“Not a Duke?” Connor gasped, moving away as much as he could from the man he suddenly didn’t know.

“I’m a writer.”

“A writer?” Connor stood up, the moment shattered and panic seeping into his mind as he tried to make sense of the stranger that sat on his bed.

“Yes, a writer,” The man had the audacity to look confused as he stood up from the bed. “Simon suggested-”

“Simon? Please tell me you’re not one of Simon’s oh so talented bohemian revolutionaries?”

“I suppose so…”

“Oh no!” Connor slapped a hand over his mouth failing to hide the shock that overtook him. “What about the Duke! Who are you?”

“I’m Hank… I thought you knew we had a meeting.”

“Yes! With the Duke! Not a _writer_.” Connor felt betrayed, one second he was falling head over heels with the handsome man before him and the next he was struggling to grasp the situation and learn that Hank, the writer stood where the Duke should have been.

“You have to go, now before the Duke gets here.” Connor hurried to the door and opened it wanting to push Hank past it until he saw the Duke standing in the small entry hallway, talking to Elijah. He slammed the door shut and turned around, pointing to the balcony at the back of the room. “ _Hide! Out the back!”_

He had no time to confirm that Hank had hidden properly because the door opened from behind him and in came Elijah, with who he believed to be the real Duke trailing behind.

“Darling, where were you?” Elijah inquired.

“I- I was here... waiting.” Connor smiled at the Duke who looked like he hardly wanted to be there. He hoped he didn’t ruin his chances with the Duke, though the look on his face told him he already did.

“Well, allow me to introduce you two.” Elijah turned to the Duke. “Sir Reed, this is our notorious and wonderful Connor.”

“My dear Duke, I’m sorry to have kept you waiting.” Connor stepped forward offering his hand to the shorter and thinner version of the “Duke” he had first met. “It’s a pleasure to have you here.”

At that, the Duke smiled and took the hand Connor offered, bringing it to his lips in a small greeting. “The pleasure, my dear, is entirely mine.”

Connor tried his best to smile and hide the grimace at the feeling of the Duke’s brief touch of lips on his knuckles. Duke Reed was shorter than Connor and Hank but was still quite attractive. He had a dark scar on his nose which was quite unusual for a man of his high standing. His green eyes were the complete opposite of Hank’s, mysterious and dark. Judging from the brief meeting, Connor already felt how much he did _not_ want to spend the rest of his evening with the man.

“I’ll leave you two to be better acquainted.” Elijah bowed to the Duke then made his way out the room, closing the door behind him.

“You must be in need of refreshments after tonight’s show,” The Duke said, making way to the champagne and picking up a glass. “I myself would enjoy a glass of champagne.” He poured two glasses and handed one to Connor who was scanning the room for a sign of Hank.

As Connor took a sip from his glass he choked on the drink after finding Hank poorly hidden behind a heavy velvet drape behind the Duke. The writer was too big to properly fit behind the drape and Connor was stuck between trying not to laugh or panic at the sight while catching his breath as he coughed out the champagne.

“Is everything alright?” The Duke asked, shifting to look behind him for the cause of Connor’s coughing fit before Connor hastily placed his glass down and grabbed the Duke’s shoulders to turn him away from Hank.

“Everything is quite alright dear Duke,” Connor glared at Hank from over the Duke’s shoulders and mouthed ‘Out. Now.’ Desperately hoping he got the message.

“Are you sure?” The Duke placed his hands on Connor’s waist and tried to turn them both around.

“Oh my! Quite enthusiastic are we?” The Duke was curious to no end to see what had Connor’s attention while the courtesan was desperately trying to distract him, gently removing the Duke’s hands from his waist. Without thinking, Connor began to recite what he remembered from the poem Hank presented to him.

“It’s a little bit funny, this feeling inside…” He stepped away from the Duke and took his hands, leading him further from the wall where Hank hid. “I uh.. I’m not one of those who can easily hide.” He trailed on before giving his full attention to the Duke, moving a hand up his chest and curling it against his neck. “I hope you don’t mind…”

“Mind what?” The Duke interjected, leaning into Connor’s touch.

“I hope you don’t mind… that I put down in words, how wonderful life is… now you’re in the world.” The Duke seemed to buy the distraction as Hank made way to the balcony, awkwardly stepping around furniture and finally disappearing outside.

“That’s very beautiful,” The Duke whispered, holding on to the hand Connor placed against his neck. He brought his palm to his lips and laid a soft kiss on it. Connor giggled to hide his discomfort as he continued his ruse to make the Duke believe his words.

“It's from our play Spectacular Spectacular and suddenly with you here, I understand the true meaning behind those words ” Connor whispered as he molded himself against the Duke’s body.

“And what meaning is that my dear?”

“Oh don’t pretend to not know the effect you have on people.” Connor smiled. He leaned in towards the Duke, trying to speed up the events of the night. “Let’s make love.”

“Make love?” The Duke’s eyes widened but looked excited nonetheless.

“You want to don’t you?” Connor moved the Duke backward to the bed and pushed him until he sat down. “I know you feel the same way.” He had to get this over with, it was the true purpose with his meeting with the Duke. How else was he going to gain his interest to invest? It was now or never and Connor had to calm his nerves in order to continue with his night. He did what he knew always got a reaction out of the men he’d been with and sat in the Duke’s lap, positioning himself so their groins touched. It wasn’t pleasant for him, it felt _wrong_ but the Duke’s body seemed to respond quickly enough as Connor rolled his hips down.

“I- I don’t…”

“Oh, Duke!” He tried his best to be the Sparkling Diamond that everyone lusted after yet the man below him looked hesitant and Connor realized that the Duke possibly didn’t want him. He quickly took the chance that presented itself. “You’re right! We should wait.” He moved off the Duke and wrapped his thin robe around his body.

“What- wait?”

“You should go, we’ll see each other every day at rehearsal.”

“But I just got here.” The Duke stood up and moved towards Connor, flattening the front of his pants down to hide his erection.

“We should wait until opening night as a celebration,” Connor promised. Surely then he would be able to handle it. He couldn’t tonight, the Duke’s body under him felt so uncomfortable and wrong and all he could think was how much he wished it was Hank. He already shut down the prospect of doing anything with the Duke quickly and refused to spend a second longer in his presence.

“Yes, we must wait…” He grabbed the cane the Duke carried into the room that was left against the cart of food and placed it into the confused Duke’s hand. “Go now, dear Duke.”

Connor hurried the Duke to the door and hushed any words of protest from the Duke with a finger against his lips. “Goodnight.”

The Duke still held a look of confusion as he moved out the door before Connor closed the door, stopping himself from slamming it in his face. He barely had time to catch his breath when Hank walked back into the room, curiously approaching Connor. A part of Connor wanted to run into Hank’s arms and get the feeling of the Duke off of himself but stopped because he was still mad at the fact that the writer nearly jeopardized his meeting with the Duke.

“Do you have any idea what would have happened if the Duke found you!” Connor rushed up to Hank poking him in his chest with an accusatory finger.

“I didn’t mean to…” Hank brought his hands up to defend himself from any other jabs from Connor, pausing in his steps.

Connor realized he was too angry and tired to form any argument or coherent sentence. Hank kept his eyes on Connor watching him with caution and confusion. He was still walking towards Hank when he faltered and lost focus on the man, the night’s crazed and fast events finally catching up to him and he felt a deep breath of air leave his lungs. Familiar nausea and lightheadedness consumed him as his body went limp and the sight of Hank disappeared. The last he felt was Hanks large arms catching him and hearing his deep voice worriedly calling his name.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So Connor will be frequently passing out in this story... ha
> 
> Moulin Rouge is a musical so there might be more references to lyrics throughout the story, the poem Hank recited is from Your Song by Elton John. 
> 
> Please feel free to leave Kudos and comments! I'd really appreciate it. Hope you liked this chapter!
> 
> I linked my twitter below with my drawing of Hank and Connor from this fic.  
> https://twitter.com/Colorfulqueer1/status/1129391710650490883


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